


Yes Ma'am

by CrowKing



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, One Shot, Tumblr request, as much fluff as you can get with Ramsay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-07
Updated: 2019-01-07
Packaged: 2019-10-06 01:57:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17336513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrowKing/pseuds/CrowKing
Summary: Many men in the North are wondering one thing. Why does Ramsay tolerate and do what a silly servant girl tells him?





	Yes Ma'am

**Author's Note:**

> Original Request: I've loved you on AO3 for ages and thought of something the other day. A Ramsey/reader, where she is the only one that can tell him (mildly) what to do. Like, "rub my feet", " do the dishes" and he'd just respond with "Yes ma'am." But like, it's Ramsey. It only extends so far

Ben Bones sat down with his eyes narrowed. The confusion started to set in slow and it stirred in his head like a good stew. He had seen odd behavior before in the dogs. He had seen odder behavior in humans when their bellies were filled with ale. Yet, he couldn’t make out what was happening in front of him.

“Aye,” snapped a guard. His fingers cold from the weather outside. Ben beckoned him closer, so the guard sat down next to him. The wooden creaked underneath his weight. Ben snapped his fingers towards the sight in front of him. 

“Look at that, what do you see?” Ben asked him. The guard took in the sight in front of him. 

The fire in the hearth burned warm and bright for most in Winterfell, but it burned mainly for the girl who smiled as her toes felt the heat. She wore a simple gown of her own making. Ramsay Bolton, heir to Winterfell, tended to the fire for her. He said no words. He didn’t demand someone else to do it. He poked and fed the fire himself.

“Is Roose’s boy doing that servant girl’s work?” the guard asked. Ben Bones nodded and scratched his beard.

“He is,” Ben confirmed. 

“Why? Is he going to cook her innit?”

“No,” Ben shook his head. “She asked ‘im to.”

“She asked ‘im to?”

“Aye, she did.”

“And he’s doing it?”

“And he’s doing it,” Ben said. Both of them narrowed their eyes at the sight of it. It wasn’t the only occurrence. Later on in the week, the servant girl and Ramsay were spotted together outside. Locke looked on in bitter confusion as he watched them closer.

Ramsay quietly saddled the servant girl’s horse while she watched on. Locke helped raise Ramsay. He was proud of his work. Locke taught him both the bow and the sword. He watched Ramsay flay small animals when he was young. Now that Ramsay was older and more clever, he heard of the true horrors that Ramsay did in those woods.  
Some of Locke’s men couldn’t stomach the corpses that they had to clean up after Ramsay’s games.

Yet, here he was. Doing a servant girl’s work for her and saddling her horse. It bothered him. He knew why. He trained this boy to hurt people and things, and to take what is his. Why the fuck was he doing something entirely kind for her? Why? It made no damn sense. He started his walk towards the pair. He heard their conversation.

“Will you show me your secret spot?” she asked tenderly. Locke smiled. Ah, Ramsay was taking her to play his games on her.

“No,” Ramsay answered. “I told you that’s no place for you. Not today.” Locke stopped. Ramsay wasn’t planning to kill her? Why?

These occurrences became more commonplace inside Winterfell. Locke and others would report to Lord Roose Bolton about daily things. What spies said, common issues, and every day occurrences with Ramsay. Roose’s men’s stomachs would turn at their new findings every day except when it came to the common servant girl.

“He must be fucking her,” said Sour Alyn. “She’s pretty enough. I would bet one whole golden dragon that she fucks him good.”

“No,” Ben shook his head. “She’s threatening him?”

“Threatening him?” one of the men laughed.

“No, listen to me,” Ben sat. His hands out, openly explaining his theory. “Not one of us can tell Ramsay what to do. Here she is. ‘Tend the fire’, ‘rub my feet’, ‘take a walk with me’. And he does it. Without question. What if she’s more harmful than him?”

“I’ve seen her scared of spiders, Bones!” Locke raised his voice. “She’s not an assassin. She’s barely a servant!” The men continued to argue until Roose finally stepped into the room. He came upon men red-in-the-face with anger and confusion as to who this servant girl thought she was. Why did Ramsay do everything she asked him to? What was the reason? 

It drove them all mad.

“Quiet!” Roose’s voice boomed over them all. The room finally settled. As the dirt and spit settled into the hard ground, each man looked his way, giving him undivided attention. Locke stepped forward, making himself the spokesman for all of them.

“What’s your boy doing, Roose?” He started off. “It makes no damn sense!”

“You’re speaking of the servant girl, Y/N.” Roose confirmed for himself. Some of his men nodded while others grunted. “Does it really concern all of you that much?”

Roose’s men led him to see the impossible sight for himself. They guided him to the private family dining room. It was smaller than the main dining hall, but it was still larger than most commonfolk homes. The Bolton crest and sword hung above the hearth. Beneath it, the servant girl sat down in a chair.

“Ramsay, could you hold the yarn for me while I knit it?” she asked tenderly.

“Yes ma’am,” he responded, taking the yarn and quietly holding it for her. 

“That.” Locke spat in Roose’s ear. “What IS that? Your boy doesn’t do this for anyone.” Roose smiled and almost chuckled at the whole situation. 

“Have you just considered the idea that he simply enjoys her company?” Roose said. Most of the men groaned which earned them a confused look from the simple pair. Locke shook his head and started to walk away. 

“Sounds fake to me,” he grunted.

“My lord?” the servant girl called out to Roose. “Is there something wrong?”

“Hush you,” Ramsay interrupted. “Keep making my scarf.”

“It’s not polite to interrupt a lady, Ramsay.” The servant girl said quietly to him. Disgruntled and annoyed, Ramsay pouted.

“Yes ma’am.”


End file.
